


Heal Me

by salamandererg



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Implied Magical Healing Cock Trope, M/M, No Sex, References to offscreen rape, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 06:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17637248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamandererg/pseuds/salamandererg
Summary: Written for an old prompt I found on Les Mis Kink Meme.Enjolras was sexually assaulted and implores Grantaire to sleep with him in order to replace that memory with a more pleasant one.





	Heal Me

“I, I cannot,” Grantaire stutters out, backing himself further against the wall to get away from Enjolras, his flushed cheeks, grasping hands, and his lips. His lips that were just…Grantaire cuts himself off, that line of thinking would not help him now, would not help him make the decision he knew in his heart to be correct, “I cannot in good conscience—”

“When have you done anything in good conscience, Grantaire?” Enjolras asks innocently, but it goes through Grantaire like a barbed spear.

“This,” He insists, “Do not think me capable of this, for I tell you, I am not.”

Enjolras looks down to the front of the other’s trousers, but Grantaire does not follow his gaze. He is already too ashamed of his reaction to having what he has wanted all these years finally so close to him.

“You can, the evidence of your capability is right there,” Enjolras says it matter-of-factly and it makes Grantaire’s heart plummet to resounding depths.

“Do not take a man’s flesh as the equivalent to his mind, I am not ruled by dangling parts. I am not like…other vile men, I cannot do this.” Grantaire swallows and brings himself to meet Enjolras’ eyes, pushing the other man firmly away from him, “I _will not_ do this.”

“Oh,” Enjolras breathes out as he let himself be moved and his expression becomes soft with understanding, “I do not think you vile, Grantaire. I did not include you in with those men who used and debased me, I would not do that. I apologize, I did not make my intentions clear to you.”

“You do not need to, let us forget this evening and go our separate ways. We will meet again tomorrow like we have not been in each other’s company and start the day fresh. I will be drunk and you will wear red,” Grantaire throws out flippantly.

“I am unable to forget things, Grantaire.” Enjolras speaks solemnly, staring Grantaire in the eye, “I have tried, but thoughts enter into my mind unbidden, whether in waking or in sleep. Should I cease to remember things, good and bad, I shall cease to exist, for our self is built on memories. And in truth, I am tired of trying to forget things, do not pile another on my chest, I will surely suffocate.”

Grantaire sighs, “I did not mean to order you to forget, though I should have known that would not be a solution for you. I drink to forget, that is how I fix things—drinking until I pass out,” Grantaire finishes with a laugh. “But I cannot—will not—do what you have asked of me.”

“I have only asked you to heal me,” Enjolras says quietly, with a slight smile. “Do you think me so unaware of myself that I do not know what is help or hurt? I have been hurt, Grantaire. I want you to help me.”

“This is not the way—” 

“I will choose whatever way I wish—”

“There are—why me?” Grantaire asks in confusion, his voice getting steadily louder with every word till he is yelling, “There are many others, many better suited, more dear friends, than I! Than the drunk, than the fool, than the good-for-nothing, how can I not be trusted with revolution, yet be trusted with this?” Grantaire takes Enjolras’ face in his hands, cradling it gently despite his harsh tone.

“I,” Enjolras says quickly before stopping himself. Grantaire talks over him without a second thought.

“It is true that I, several months ago, would not have turned down a situation as this. To have you kiss me in candlelight was the stardust my dreams were made of, but now I am sickened by the desire I feel for you! My desire, which is far too close to the one that those other _men_ , those monsters, had for you. I confess I had dreamed of taking you apart, yet not so wretchedly.”

“Do not make this about you, Grantaire, you have no right,” Enjolras glares, using their closeness to amplify the effect. It is so effective that Grantaire drops his hands from Enjolras’ face and looks ashamed. “You are not the only one whose desires have been twisted,” Enjolras continues fiercely, his eyes wide and staring into Grantaire’s boldly. “I have had dreams like that, before.”

Grantaire only stares, cataloging the shadows on Enjolras’ face heightened by sparse candlelight and the phantoms of bruises that took weeks to heal. Grantaire can point out where all of them were, even the ones now hidden by clothes, he can trace the discolored shapes with his fingers from memory. Enjolras is still bruised, Grantaire supposes, but can’t figure out why he has been chosen to heal them. Grantaire has always pressed on his bruises rather than let them heal.

“I am tired, Grantaire,” Enjolras admits after a moment, “I am tired of looking at my body and only remembering their hands, of licking my lips and only tasting _them_ , I am tired,” He chokes out, “Of having dreams I once welcomed with guilty pleasure now polluted by what I have experienced.”

“And what, what exactly do you want me to do, Enjolras? I am no Morpheus, I do not walk through dreams, nor control them.”  
“Grantaire—”

“As I said, if I want to fix something, I drink; have you tried that yet? But no, you want to fuck your problems away,” Grantaire says harshly, “There are better prospects than me.”

“I, I want no other prospect but you.”

Grantaire huffs out a laugh and wobbles his way over to a table, sitting down heavily, “Have you chosen me because I’m easy, I wonder? Why not Courfeyrac or Combeferre? They are your dearest friends.”

“I do not want Courfeyrac or Combeferre.”

“Or Joly, or Jehan? ”

“I do not want—”

“Or—”

“Do you truly wish to deny me the right to consent to my next bed partner, or are you intending to force one on me?” Enjolras questions, a stern tilt to his lips that achieves its goal of shaming Grantaire by the way the man’s shoulders hunch in on himself, “I believe I have made my intentions clear, I have yet to hear yours.”

“My intentions are to…” Grantaire starts strong, before catching Enjolras’ eye and immediately loses steam, mumbling to the tabletop and tapping his shoes on the floor in an agitated rhythm. “My intentions, my intentions are to…”

He breaks off with a sigh and reaches for another wine bottle, pouring a cup to overflowing, and then past that, watching the wine ripple over the rim, spread across the tabletop and trickle to the floor, landing by his shoes with small splashes.

“My intentions were, and always are, to complete the tasks you ask of me.”

\--

End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> This is the link to the original prompt: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/13775.html?thread=12147151#t12147151


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